


Five Things That Aren't True, HCL edition

by debit



Category: Hard Core Logo (1996)
Genre: 5 Things, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-28
Updated: 2011-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:54:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debit/pseuds/debit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five things that never happened to Joe Dick and Billy Talent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things That Aren't True, HCL edition

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written July 30 2003.

1  Since the Rock of Ages

  
If he wasn't so fucking tired, he could almost laugh at himself: the ten great lies of rock and roll.  Jesus.  But the camera is rolling, it's show time and he's never been one to give up on a chance to feed the legend.

So he tilts back the chair, let's the bullshit flow and doesn't think about Mulligan's phone call, the legal looking fax from Rock Against Guns with Cromartie's jagged, pissed off signature, the looks he gets from Pipe when he jumps at every fucking knock on the door.  

Doesn't matter, none of it fucking matters because they're together and the Toronto gig is a cold, hard reality while LA is nothing anymore but a broken dream.  And if it takes coddling Mr. Rock Star No More out of his sulks, that's fine, he can do that no problem.  Easy Peasie, just like answering Bruce's hopelessly mundane and middle class questions.  Except the last one made no sense, so he has to ask Bruce to repeat it.  Bruce smiles, and does.    
   
"So, Billy how do you feel about Joe leaving the band?"

*

2  Rock and Roll is Sad and Lonely

  
Morris (Morrie the Mongoloid, Pipe calls him) wants something different for Tuesdays because of the menu.  

"Ethnic," he tells Joe, with a tentative smile.

"Mexican," John offers quietly and goes went back to smoothing the carpet on his keyboard.

"You want, what, Morrie?  La Cucaracha?  The Frito Bandito song?"

Pipe stops leering at Lori the waitress and starts warbling, "Aye, yi yi yi."

Billy doesn't even look up, just keeps picking at the same chord over and over again, until Joe wants to kick him in the fucking head.  Instead, he grits he teeth and kicks Pipe's chair, watches it fall over and takes a dim satisfaction in both the dull crack when Pipe's head hits the floor and Morrie's flinch.

"Just something-" Morrie starts, his smile now fixed like a rictus.

"Something to make the turds suck down more tacos?" Joe says, but he doesn't think Morrie hears him call the customers turds because Pipe is screaming, "Fuck you very much, Joe, you fucking asshole!"

Morrie loses the smile and starts in again about language, professionalism, and Holiday Inn's family friendly image, but Pipe rolls his eyes and walks off mid lecture to join his wife behind the bar.

Pipe tries to give Mary a kiss that she evades with a pasty smile and a bottle of beer.  Pipe drinks and doesn't see her shoot Billy a questioning, almost apologetic look, doesn't notice Billy hunch his shoulders and drop his head even more.

So Joe gets the lecture instead, and grits his teeth and nods and promises to come up with something for the dinner set.

"This sucks," Billy says, but there's no emotion in his voice, no emotion in the chord he pulls from the guitar.

Joe doesn't bother replying.  Yeah, it sucks, but it pays the bills.

  
*

3  Down For a Holiday

Joe Dick didn't have many second thoughts in his life, but sometimes they came and sometimes he listened.

They were in the middle of Something's Gonna Die and Sydney or Simon or who the fuck ever from Sony Records was looking up at him like Joe was sweating out dollar bills, and at that moment, Joe wanted to fuck it all over.  Forget all the hard work, the shitty gigs, the band houses, the fucking Mulligans and just take out his dick, piss in Sydney Simon whatever's drink and ask him if he could sell  that.  

But then Billy, almost like he was reading Joe's mind, bumped into him and gave him the look, the one that said 'Knock it the fuck off' and they finished the set without Joe's dick making an appearance.  

It was, Joe thought later, probably a good thing, since it was the Sony contract that got them to LA.

*

4  Crackerjack Soul

Joe thinks he likes the mohawk.  The lights in the bar make his scalp gleam like a skull, turn his eyes into small, mean caves.  Very few people ever fuck with him, and he likes the nervous looks from the small audience when he leaves the bar and goes to watch the band set up.  
   
One of them is a stringy little fucker with a nose like a hatchet and a clipped, prim little voice that Joe thinks should belong to a school teacher, that is until he screams at the drummer to be fucking careful with the fucking equipment. When one of the guitars is dropped, his hands knot at his sides and his face turns red, and he suddenly looks just like the guy on the poster outside.   

The lead guitar player, the blond, Billy something, grabs the guitar, plucks a few notes from it and says, "Jesus, Bucky, it's fine.  Settle the fuck down."

Bucky snarls something that makes the blond laugh, and that seems to settle him down.  

The stage is small, but not that small, and Joe wonder if they're fags when they can't seem to stop touching each other; bumping hips, rubbing shoulders, brushing fingers when handing shit off.  Maybe not the blond, Joe thinks.  Billy.  But the other guy, Bucky, he looks at Billy like he wants to eat him up or maybe slurp him down.  

When Billy glances at him, Joe sends him a nasty smile and doesn't quite know why.  He holds it until his boss notices and yells, "Hey, Mulgrew.  Get to fucking work."

With a shrug, Joe heads back to the door and stares down the asshole at the front of the line.  He runs a hand over his head and decides he really does like the mohawk.  

  
*

  
5  All of the Good Things

Joe didn't end up doing time.  "The luck of the Irish," Billy had said, and Joe'd cuffed him and said, "No, man, the luck of the dick." Which really wasn't that fucking funny, but still Billy laughed so hard beer came out of his nose, which made Joe lose it too.

The profits from the gig in Toronto barely managed to cover what Joe'd fucked off with, but Cromartie and Rock Against Guns didn't seem to want the world to know they'd been, if you'll pardon the expression, dicked.  They got their money back, told Joe to eat shit and die, and everyone came out even, no harm, no foul, except for Bruce because no one wanted to distribute his shitty little documentary.   Well, and maybe Bucky fucking Garbo.

Pipe was pretty much happy as long as he had booze, food and  a place to shit.  John was deeply unhappy, but too medicated to notice.  Billy had been pretty unhappy about Jennifur's break up, but he was coming around and that sure as shit made Joe happy.  

Mr. happy go lucky, Joe thought, and smiled as he handed Billy another beer.

Billy tilted his head.  "What?"

"Nothing," Joe said.  "Just glad the tour's over."


End file.
